


Classical Allusions

by ljs



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/pseuds/ljs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interstitial fic for 2.20, "AC/DC."</p><p>After a dinner party at the Cozner-Holt residence doesn't quite happen, Kevin and Raymond have a talk. And some other stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classical Allusions

“A non-emergency emergency,” Kevin said, alarmingly neutral, and rinsed the plate he’d just washed.

Raymond tried not to stiffen at the remark, even though Kevin’s back was turned. He plucked at his casual trousers and then stilled his hands. “Yes. Not serious enough to require my presence. As we established.”

Despite several plates yet to be washed and dried – Kevin didn’t trust the dishwasher, Raymond knew, after that regrettable if accidental destruction with a dish of his mother’s Limoges three years ago—Kevin wiped his hands with the dishcloth and then placed the cloth on the counter. “And yet serious enough to turn away our other guests at the door and evict Marcus. Without, I might add, even unboxing the eclairs I purchased from that boutique bakery we’ve been meaning to try.”

Raymond had Opinions about chocolate and the deleterious effects of over-indulgence, but perhaps this wasn’t the time to reiterate them. He could deduce well enough that Kevin was suspicious – and rightly so, for it hadn’t been more than a few weeks since Raymond had vowed not to lie to his husband any more. The weight of that almost broken vow was heavy indeed, and no doubt was written on his body.

“Raymond.” Kevin walked with purpose over to the kitchen island and put his hands on the counter, the better to loom at Raymond on its other side. Then he just… looked. It was the kind of visual inquisition that could crush a careless college sophomore who had failed a midterm in Ancient Greek. It was the kind of visual inquisition that made Raymond’s neck itch. He disliked the feeling. But he could make it go away with simple truth.

And so, letting out a breath, he said, “It wasn’t an actual emergency. Detective Diaz had a personal issue and needed to leave. I wished to give her an appropriate cover.”

“Which meant we turned away not only Marcus but Gina and Detective Santiago, I mean, Amy, for what purpose?”

No good answer for that. Humor, perhaps -- “It’s a good thing you never joined the force. With your interrogation technique you’d have been a terror.”

Kevin’s eyes narrowed – which angry frame intensified their blue sharpness, which Raymond felt he perhaps shouldn’t find as… arousing… as he did, although to be fair, the forest-green shirt also brought out the blue. His pleasant reaction faded, however, when Kevin snapped out, “I would not have joined the force at any time. One hero in the family is enough.”

“I’m not –“

“Save your protestations.” Irritated but still graceful, Kevin pushed away from the counter. “I should finish the dishes.”

Raymond got up from the stool on which he’d been perched. “Are you still angry about my light stabbing and the subsequent untruth?”

“ _Your_ subsequent untruth. The possessive should be used, as it was your lie.” Kevin dipped a plate into the bubble-filled sink with what Raymond could only define as a vengeful air. “But no. You explained and I forgave. I apologize if I seem to be bringing up an old argument.”

The line of Kevin’s spine suggested otherwise to Raymond’s eyes. However, looking at Kevin’s spine, the long supple length of it, brought to mind other parts of Kevin to which Raymond was extremely partial. And, while a guarded man in many respects, Raymond didn’t have to guard himself with his husband. (Ordinarily. When not lying.)

He allowed himself, therefore, to go to Kevin. To trail a finger up that long length of spine, enjoying the pleasure-shudder Kevin gave at the touch. To lean in, boxing Kevin in at the sink, and whisper, “Why are you angry?”

Kevin leaned back, hands still in the dishwater, eyes closed. “I’m not angry. And it’s not fair of me to express my feelings right now.”

Raymond put his arms fully around Kevin and kissed his temple. “Tell me. I’ll judge the fairness or lack thereof.”

Kevin laughed, a bit sadly, low in his throat. “It’s just… I would prefer not to be Penelope.”

“Odysseus’s wife?” Raymond asked, although he knew quite well who Penelope was. He was… surprised, that was all. “You see my perfectly everyday work for the New York City Police Department as somehow analogous to decades of absence?”

Sighing, Kevin turned around, so that they were eye to eye, mouth to mouth. Raymond was almost overwhelmed by the mingled scents of the light but elegant Pinot Noir they had drunk at dinner, the Mrs Meyer’s dishwashing soap (geranium) on Kevin’s wet skin, the last wafts of Kevin’s morning cologne (Penhaligon’s Bayolea; Raymond had chosen it for Christmas). He was almost overwhelmed by Kevin's presence – 

“If you were gone for twenty-one years, Raymond, I would wait for you. I would mourn, and I would wait. And when you talk of emergencies and work, well, I can’t help thinking—“

Raymond stopped Kevin’s words with a kiss. It wasn’t guarded _at all_ , the kiss. It spoke of love, and of faithfulness, and of Raymond’s complete and utter uninterest in various Calypsos or whoever might try to keep him from his husband.

He didn’t even mind when Kevin brought one wet hand up to cradle his nape and… rearrange him, bring him in, open him up, dear heavens – 

The jingle of dog tags and a brush of an annoyingly furry body broke the spell. Raymond pulled back far enough to enunciate, “Kevin. Your dog wants something.”

“I don’t care.” Kevin began to pull him back, but then, a bark. An irritating Corgi bark, far louder than one could imagine a small creature could make. Kevin shot a censorious look down at the dog. “Cheddar Telemachus Cozner-Holt, _be quiet_.” 

While Raymond – or part of Raymond – was extremely affected by the sharp authority in that voice, the other part realized, after years of wondering – “You named the dog Telemachus because… because you think of him as our son?”

“Forget you ever deduced such a thing,” Kevin said. Or rather, growled. Then he gently bit Raymond’s ear. “You’re here now. _Be_ here.”

“I am,” Raymond said hoarsely, and focused his considerable attention on Kevin’s mouth.  
……………………………….

Cheddar Telemachus Cozner-Holt brushed up again against his people’s legs and barked, but alas, he could read the signs. No leftover Boeuf Bourguignon would be forthcoming for at least an hour.

An hour could feel like two decades, sometimes.


End file.
